Room for Two
by Miiko Ashida
Summary: Waya and Isumi and the difference between a house and a home.


Isumi is a little surprised when, after he walks Waya home, he is invited in.

"Why?" he asks, sort of expecting it when the answer is a smile and gentle tug on his wrist.

The inside of Waya's apartment is messy– clothes everywhere, old dishes lying around, papers, books, and go chips scattered over any and every conceivable surface. Isumi tells him so. With a shrug and that unfathomable, amiable grin Waya replies, "I like it this way. Reminds me I live here."

Isumi can understand that but not enough to be jealous, so he nods and clears a small spot for them to sit on the sofa. They fall asleep to dubbed episodes of the archaic American TV show "I Love Lucy". It's the only station that comes in clearly, Waya explains into Isumi's shoulder before drifting off. This is certainly a lifestyle, thinks his friend as he listens to traffic and shouting neighbors. It could be nice; cozy, even. He supposes it's pleasant to be around people who are like you.

--

They stop by Isumi's house, once, on the way back to Waya's from a party. Isumi is leaving for China the next morning, and he doesn't want to sleep in his comparatively cavernous room all alone, wondering whether his life will take off or go into a nose dive in the next few months. He's not sure he can live without his friends, all the smiling faces that smiled and wished him well and gave him little travel gifts at the going away bash. They're always there. When they're not, he doesn't know whether _he _is.

He tells Waya to wait in the car, he'll only be gone long enough to grab some pants (the pair he wore for the evening out have soda all over them, compliments of a spiked-drink-victim Hikaru), and doesn't notice that his words go unheeded. As soon as he has the lock open, Waya invites himself in, slipping past him with a slight rustle of clothing, and pauses to gape at the entryway.

To him, or even most people, the house is enormous. Still, the plan of the rooms apparently has no complexity because Waya's found the kitchen by the time Isumi comes back downstairs, buttoning the replacement jeans. He figured he'd change his shirt, too, and Waya notices.

"That color of purple makes you the image of an eggplant," he points out, straight-faced and earnest.

"What _is_ this?" Isumi teases back with mock-seriousness. "I invite you into my house, and you insult my wardrobe unabashedly?"

"Yep. And now, I'm getting into your food, as well." With a grin, Waya holds up the bowl of etamame he's fixed for himself, gesturing to the cabinets. "Get some real food," he advises solemnly before disappearing around the corner into the TV room.

Isumi could almost chuckle if he weren't so worried about tomorrow's flight, when he sees the way his friend is draped over the couch, lounging and raptly tuned in to one of the hundred-and-fifty channels Isumi's satellite networks boasts. "You have _actual _television," he utters, worshipfully.

"Commandeering the appliances, too, now?"

"Of course." What's on the TV is some cheesy romance movie, with the hero whispering something to his leading lady in the clichèd preset formula for seduction, that makes Isumi flush hotly and wonder why on earth would _that _station be on? Then faster than he would have supposed someone could heave themselves up from a spread-eagle on the upholstery and cross the room Waya is standing by his side, whispering the same thing in his ear.

"Stop that!" Isumi half-means it, a little stunned at the coarse words and a little embarrassed that they are being spoken to _him_, of all people. By Waya– though that is not nearly such a surprise.

"Oh, my dear, how I've longed to say these words to you!" And Waya persists, of course, leaning in slightly too close, so that it's nearly comical. "Will you let me take you to bed?"

Now Isumi does laugh, breaking away from Waya's encircling arms to cover his face and wondering whether his ears are turning red. That rather killed the moment, whatever of it there had been, but Waya is chuckling, too.

"It does sound kind of stupid, doesn't it?" he says mournfully, moving back in to nuzzle Isumi's neck. "What _should_ I say?"

"Say I love you," suggests Isumi, softly, hardly daring, and for once Waya listens to him.

--

On Friday night, nearly a week after Isumi's return, they're snuggled up in Waya's apartment with the blankets around them and "I Love Lucy" squawking loudly from the next room. It didn't occur to either of them to turn it off, but it doesn't really matter. Mind wandering, Isumi realizes his parents don't know he's here. He suspects that, did they, they might not care. It's bad for the family reputation and all, but not bad enough that it can't be covered up, so he'll get away with a few nights out when no one can account for his whereabouts.

The little apartment didn't lose any of its charm when Isumi gathered up all the dirty clothes for laundry day, or when Waya, still protesting about a home having its character, shuffled most of his dirty dishes into the kitchen. It still felt like a lived-in place, it still felt like a dream to be here. Nothing had faded, at all.

It could be nice, Isumi thought to himself as he wrapped and unwrapped a strand of Waya's hair around one finger, to be surrounded by people like yourself. Through the walls he can hear other TVs blaring, muted by thin insulation, and couples fighting and mothers scolding their children for breaking curfew. There is even, when he listens for it, the distant reverberating ecstacy of lovemaking coming from somewhere above. Everyone in this little apartment has no secrets from each other, if you care to know about them, and they all have a home in the dingy center of the city.

You could say that his own household has all the comforts and commodities except for that. Waya said that Isumi's house probably had to be that large to fit someone with such a huge heart inside it. The place's size really has nothing to do with it, Isumi thinks. All it needs is to be a home, and it can fit all the family a lonely person could ever want within its walls. For instance... With a smile, he pulls the covers up a little. Waya shifts and sighs beside him, dreaming no doubt of houses and homes, wise-acre comments and worn-out come on lines. ...For instance: this tiny one-bed-and-bath apartment is room enough for two.


End file.
